


The King

by Greychance



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Angst, F/M, POV First Person, POV Third Person, Post Wicked King, god he loves Jude so much, if they don’t get a happy ending in QoN I will lose my shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-14 04:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21009980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greychance/pseuds/Greychance
Summary: “I wish I could tell you that I’ve changed.For a brief period of time, I had foolishly believed that I had begun to fill the shoes you were so generous as to force upon me in the form of the damn Blood crown.Yet here we are.”





	1. Chapter 1

I wish I could tell you that I’ve changed.

For a brief period of time, I had foolishly believed that I had begun to fill the shoes you were so generous as to force upon me in the form of the damn Blood crown.

Yet here we are. 

I remain the boy prince frantically jotting down his unwanted thoughts of a mortal in hopes she will stop plaguing his every thought. You are still the stubborn girl who will not relent your hold on my mind. Despite all that has happened, I suppose there is some comfort to be found in the fact that neither of us abandoned these roles that we have always played. 

You will likely never find this written evidence of my weakness. I have no intent of ever sending these letters, lest I intentionally undermine all that I have done to distance you and I. Then again, I never thought you would find that first scrap of paper jammed between the pages of Alice in Wonderland. You’ve always made a habit of surprising me, so I suppose I mustn’t rule out any scenarios at this point, no matter their perceived impossibility. 

I’m not even sure what I wish to accomplish with these ramblings. To apologize for my actions, for the performance I carried out with the knowledge that the pain it caused would prevent you from delving into my motives? To tell you of my surprise that, amidst a revel I ought to have been enjoying yesterday, I found myself turning to bicker with a seneschal who no longer stands besides my throne? I do not know. Perhaps I wished to confess my recent difficulties sleeping for more than several hours at a time, or to boast about my improvements in both swordplay and various sleights of hand.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say you would not be able to help but laugh if you could see me now. But you were never really one to openly mock, to break the carefully crafted mask that you wore like a second skin. More likely, you’d simply smile to yourself, the way I remember you doing when you thought no eyes were there to notice.

I could not say for sure what finally drove me to this point, desperately scribbling down various confessions at dawn to a woman whom I’ve gone to extreme lengths to ensure despises me. For now, Jude, I think it’s simply another distraction of mine, one I fear may be all that keeps me sane these days.

-Cardan


	2. Chapter 2

Today, amidst training, the Roach informed me it takes only 18 days for an individual to form a new habit. I think he intended it to apply to my lessons on self-defense, but I couldn’t help but think of my other recent behaviors and laugh. It seems I have officially established a habit of sleeping in your abandoned chambers.

I have not stayed in Eldred’s old rooms since the Island of Ash was raised from the sea. I thought about setting fire to the accursed place, before remembering you are no longer here to prevent me from indulging in such self-destructive tendencies.

That first night after the banishment, I wandered to your bedchamber, telling myself it was a one-time occurrence, that it must be this particular room simply because it was the only other in the palace that would be sufficiently warded against enemies.

I’m sure you know as well as I that these were feeble excuses at best, as near to lying as a fae may get.

Through weeks of trial and error, I’ve found, as inconvenient and obnoxious as it has proven to be, that your rooms are the only place I am able to get any rest. I must say, your mattress is terribly uncomfortable. The floor is as cluttered as you left it, with papers and various weapons scattered about aimlessly. I ought to have it all stripped and refurnished, but I know I won’t. I find it oddly comforting to return each night the terribly human disorder, ironic as that may be.

Additionally, as much as I’m sure you’d find the sentiment irritating, it never fails to make me laugh upon seeing the four black doublets that still hang in your closet.

I find that there is not much that amuses me these days, so I will take what little joy I can find.

-Cardan


	3. Chapter 3

I think about the day of your exile far more than I care to admit. Perhaps you would find some kind of comfort in the fact that I consider it one of the worst moments of my life.

I know you will never see these words, Jude, yet I need it to be known somewhere beyond my own thoughts that I did not want to laugh. I felt no joy, no happiness as l had to watch our subjects snicker as you declared yourself Queen.

I wish that I did not have to stay silent as you dared me to deny you.

I regret not being clever enough to figure out another way.

But above all, I want it to be known I am sorry I made you cry. In that moment, I nearly damned us both by shattering the illusion of my heartless cruelty. But instead, like a coward, I turned my back so I did not have see your eyes water, did not have to see the hate scrawled so clearly across your features as you where dragged from Elfhame.

I sometimes think about what could have been, had you stayed and ruled besides me. You no longer would be the puppet master, forced to hide in the shadows. Instead, you’d sit besides me on a throne of your own.

And yet, even in my wildest of fantasies, I do not see our happiness extending beyond a single month. Far too often I am plagued by nightmares of a vengeful sea striking back at you, claiming their crime is justified following the slaughter of the ambassador. 

I know what you will say, that killing Balekin was act of self-defense. But you, better than most, understand the rules of this land. The fae do not consider the motive, merely the end result. The life of an immortal ambassador for that of a mortal Queen would be seen as a fair exchange in the eyes of the people.

For all our pretenses of civility, an eye for an eye is the true laws that governs us creatures of twilight.

And I will not risk your head on the mercy of the folk.

-Cardan


	4. Chapter 4

Isn’t it ridiculous that a king can be escorted from his own reveal?

I’m no stranger to such events. I don’t particularly enjoy the reveals themselves; in isolation, they’re tedious at best and downright boring at worst. They are, however, a wonderful excuse to get woefully inebriated, a state I find myself appreciating more and more these days.

Tonight, however, was the first time the Roach and the Bomb deemed it appropriate to remove me from my own party. I don’t remember what action it was that caused them to drag me from the Great Hall. I doubt I’ll remember much of anything by tomorrow.

I believe I thanked the Roach for all but carrying me to the nearest bedchamber.

I think I told the Bomb I missed you.

I’m not sure as to why I admitted this to her, but it must be true or else I wouldn’t have been able to say it.

As ridiculous as it may sound given our history, I do miss you. Quite terribly, if I’m being entirely honest, though I’d likely never admit to such a thing if I was anywhere within the realm of sobriety. Luckily (or perhaps most unfortunately), in this moment I find myself thoroughly intoxicated.

So, Jude, I will confess that have felt the weight of your absence every day since you left. I miss the quick verbal sparring, the moments I was able to coax a surprised laugh out of you, the constant back-and-forth that always kept me on my toes. I miss the shade of red you turned as I watched your dreadful attempts to lie, and the inexplicable excitement of never knowing exactly when a knife would next be pressed to my throat.

These days, the only company I am able to keep is a court with downturned eyes and bowed heads. Every time a counsel member defers to my woefully poor judgment or a two-faced noble showers me in false praise, I feel a painful longing for the mortal with the sharp tongue who refused to ever take a single order from me.

Humans have a lovely little saying that drunken words are sober thoughts. I’m not entirely convinced this particular confession with survive the irritating common sense that will surely accompany the raging hangover of tomorrow morning, but while I can destroy the writings, I’ve found the thoughts themselves are far more challenging to extinguish.

I have yet to decide whether or not I should find any kind of comfort in this.

-Cardan


	5. Chapter 5

Your sister is slowly becoming the bane of my existence. Save for the single time I was poisoned and nearly killed (a somewhat adequate excuse for my confusion), I’ve never had any difficulty distinguishing the two of you. Taryn has always had sort of meekness about her- a constant downcast of her gaze, a tentativeness to her step, a slight hunch to her shoulders. Even in your weakest moments, you’ve never possessed such mannerisms.

However, I’ve recently discovered that after several glasses of wine, if I tilt my head and squint a bit, she looks enough like you that I can pretend, even if only for a moment. It’s become another habit of mine, I suppose.

I’ll see her dancing and imagine you in her place, effortlessly moving through the footwork as if sparring against an enemy. On nights when I see her socializing with various fae, I smile to myself, imagining you doling out carefully-crafted threats to the very same individuals that your twin lathers with honeyed words.

But she is not you.

Sometimes I’ll pass her in the hallway and be caught completely off guard for a split second, my embarrassingly desperate mind conjuring up fantasies in which you’ve returned to claim your crown.

Yesterday, she had the gall to address me directly, requesting some small favor. I can’t recall exactly what it was that she wanted- I simply was focused on her voice.

For all your differences, Jude, you and your twin sound very similar indeed.

When she came up to the dais, for a moment I saw you before me, the question only posed as a requested for public appearance, an order hidden just beneath the surface.

Then the harsh reality of the situation came crashing down onto me once again, and I find myself hating Tayrn just a little bit more.

I have a litany of justifiable reasons to despise your twin. However, if I’m truly honest with myself, these days I hate her simply for not being the other Duarte sister.

-Cardan


	6. Chapter 6

Yesterday was the closest I have come yet to casting aside all logic and simply retrieving you from the mortal world myself.  


At this point, such a thought is not uncommon. I find myself constantly conjuring images of your return, each more far-fetched than the last. Some days, I see my own hand guiding you back to Faerieland; just as often, I picture you forced back by a disaster of my own creation. But my most frequently fantasy is of you forging your own path home, a fiery Queen reclaiming what is hers by both law and merit.

It is a pity such an entrance would likely end in my blood being spilled my none other than my own wife. You’ve never been gifted at tempering your anger, and you have every reason to hate me.

But this particular desire to bring you back to my side was the result of a dream.

I humiliated you once, the night you were crowned Queen of Mirth, by telling the court the frequency with which your face appeared in my nightmares. I knew they would assume I was referencing my believed disgust towards a mortal girl; I knew you would assume I relived you placing an unwanted crown on my head each night.

Neither of these assumptions were true.

My dreams of you have always been the same. It begins as pure bliss, with us side by side. Occasionally we wear crowns on our heads; just as often we are without title and no less happy for it. There are no more false declarations of hatred from you, no more silences from myself as I try and fail to utter a similar lie. We live in a cluttered home that bears no resemblance palace of Elfhame nor Hollow Hall or Madoc’s estate. You practice swordplay out of mere enjoyment, not necessity. You are no longer afraid to dance. Some nights there is even a child.

But the dreams always eventually dissolved into a horrifying nightmare. When we were younger, I’d often have to watch, helpless, as you were killed by Valerian, or mercilessly beaten by order of Nicasia. Other nights, I’d return to the small home we shared, only to find you in the arms of Locke.

After you placed the Blood Crown on my head, the form of torture I experienced in my sleep each night changed. Sometimes I had to watch as you died protecting me from some threat I’d been too spiteful or intoxicated to notice. Other evenings I had to witness Madoc run you through with a sword, all with a smile on his face and a claim of fatherhood on his lips. In the month you were in the Undersea, I don’t think a single night passed where I didn’t dream of watching you drown, always just out of my reach.

But last night was the first nightmare to take place in the Mortal world. I dreamed of a faceless hire. I didn’t know by whom he was sent, though there is no shortage of possibilities when it concerns our enemies. I watched as he stabbed you in the living room of the small apartment in which you currently live. I saw you bleed out on the carpet of the horrendously innocuous home.

Vivienne and Oak must have been elsewhere, because I had to watch as you died with no one by your side.

The worst part of the dream, however, was the fact that I cannot recall for the life of me if you even put up a fight. In the moments after I had awoken, I felt horribly certain you had welcomed your fate with open arms.

For all I had done in the name of protection, you died just I believed you would have in Elfhame.

The only difference, really, was the fact that the death I all but sentenced you to in the Mortal world was far crueler, far lonelier than anything I once feared you would find here.

-Cardan


	7. Chapter 7

The High King of Elfhame placed his quill back on the desk. He re-read the letter once, as he always did. He saw the familiar handwriting turn rushed and near-illegible towards the conclusion, saw the usual careless ink drops scattered across the page. He kicked open the bottom drawer of the table, was greeted by the expected pile undelivered messages, one that grew larger with each passing day.

But then he stopped.

The king had a well-established routine. He’d return each night to chambers that weren’t his. He’d write out a letter on parchment that didn’t belong to him, then stumbled into a bed that was not his to claim and try not to dream of it’s owner during the handful of hours he was able to rest. A rather pathetic tradition, he knew, but a comforting one nonetheless.

That evening, for the first time in the months since his writings had begun, he broke his habit. The king took all the letters from the drawer, and he read each and every one again.

And again.

And again.

With each pass through, a clearer picture was painted in his mind. He saw a man blinded by fear, making a choice that seemed the only option in the moment. His own suffering was apparent in the desperate ramblings of each line, but what of that of the one he’d banished? Stripped of everything she’d once fought for, killed for. Abandoned in a place that she could no longer call home. He’d done this to her in the name of protection.

But a gilded cage is still a cage. One he was slowly coming to realize was no safer than the world she’d been torn from.

The solution came to him in a split second. He placed the letters back into the drawer.

Then Cardan began to laugh.

He was most definitely not drunk enough to be making a decision this poor.

It was an absolutely horrible idea.

He remembered saying such a thing to Jude once, in a small room in which they’d laid, tangled in each other’s limbs. He had been right then. It  had been terrible idea. But yet, it had also proven to be best choice he’d ever made. He could only hope such a paradox would hold true now.

Still chuckling, Cardan picked up the quill. Once again, the High King of Elfhame sat at the desk of his old seneschal to write a letter.

But for the first time in many months, he had every intention of it being delivered.

_To the Spies of the Court of Shadow-_

_I hope to return soon. “Hope”, of course, being the operative word in this case. I am hereby entrusting you with the task of bracing the court.   
For what, I do not yet know._ _ Perhaps you will have to deliver the news that the king has been slaughtered by none other than his own wife. However, in the slight chance fate is on my side, I want you to prepare the folk for the imminent arrival of both of their monarchs. I plan to travel to the mortal world, to try to convince Jude to return._

_It is time for exiled Queen to come home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you’ve enjoyed so far! I’m considering continuing the story by writing a little reunion and the preceding events. If this is something you’d be interested in, please let me know! Any future chapters I write will likely be a bit longer than than the these, and almost exclusively in third person POV. Any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!


	8. Chapter 8

Cardan squinted up at the small building in front of him, hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun. He had known his decision to retrieve Jude from the Mortal World had been rash, knew there were literally hundreds of scenarios in which something could go wrong. But of all the potential problems to encountered, Cardan had never anticipated that the time of his arrival would prove to be such an issue. 

  
Faeries were creatures of the evening- they awake with the stars and their days came to an end with the breaking of dawn.

But, much to his annoyance, Cardan had discovered that mortals did not operate on the same schedule. 

  
The High King of Elfhame had arrived in Maine around midnight, still wild with anticipation, near delirious with excitement.

His initial joy, however, slowly diminished over the next eight hours. Now, Cardan was simply irritated.

Irritated, and very, very tired. 

It turned out mortals did not take well to strange men appearing on their street late at night, even though Cardan had taken all of the necessary precautions. He’d traded his typical extravagant attire for a simple black shirt and trousers, and glamoured his features to conceal any evidence of the fact that he wasn’t quite human. He’d even hidden away his damn tail.

Nevertheless, mere minutes after Cardan had reached Jude’s apartment (and paced up and down the front walk several times), one of her neighbors had threatened to call the police from behind the locked door.

Cardan wasn’t entirely sure who the police were, but from the tone with which the person had spoken, he understood the need to make himself scarce, at least for next few hours.

He quickly decided this newfound time would be dedicated to hunting down a badly-needed drink.

The High King had wandered about aimlessly until he reached a place that reminded him of the Great Hall. There were so many lights, all just a bit too bright, the various sounds all just slightly too loud. People were scattered about, each carrying themselves with a certain importance, as if they all knew exactly where they were going. Luckily, Cardan didn’t gain any unwanted attention here- he too had a very specific destination in mind.

Back when she had still been his seneschal, Jude had mentioned how he’d love the bars of the mortal world. Sometimes this comment was made with a hint of amusement; far more often it was said with a tone of clear annoyance. When Cardan saw the several individuals drunkenly stumble out of the front door, he knew he’d found the right place.

The bar was dimly lit, the old wooden floor creaky and stained. There were a handful of people milling about, none of whom appeared to be anything other than miserable. The entire place smelled stale alcohol and what Cardan assumed was poorly-cleaned vomit. The woman behind the counter didn’t seem to be much older than he himself, but when she’d asked for identification, Cardan was unable to produce anything adequate (apparently the Greenbriar family crest didn’t count). Glamouring the poor bartender was out of the question, and Cardan certainly wasn’t desperate enough to attempt any sort of theft. At least, not quite yet.

The king had left the bar, resigned to the fact that his stay in the Mortal World would be on of sobriety.

God, he hated this place.

After his failed venture downtown, Cardan had returned to Jude’s neighborhood. However, rather than continuing his earlier pacing in front of her apartment complex, he instead settled down in the park across the street. He figured this was slightly less conspicuous.

Indeed, there were no more threats of police summons from the overly hostile neighbors. However, as daylight arrived, so did the children, along with the none-too-friendly gazed of their parents. 

  
It was here Cardan found himself at 8 in the morning: On an uncomfortable wooden bench, shielding his eyes from the rising sun and trying to rediscover his earlier enthusiasm for the possibility of death at his wife’s own hand.

His mood was not improved by the small child who had plopped himself down on the swings opposite of the High King, and how was now staring at him without a hint of embarrassment or timidity. 

The boy couldn’t have been older than four, with light curls and soft brown eyes trained on Carden with an unashamed curiosity. The openness in his gaze was completely foreign to the king, the youthful honesty of his face obnoxiously unnerving.

Cardan arched a brow at his small opponent, determined to remain unfazed by the child’s display.

“Hurry along. I’m not a particularly patient person to begin with, and today I find myself lacking both the energy and the insobriety to deal with the likes of you.”

Instead of retreating, the little tyke had the audacity to giggle, his round cheeks dimpling with clear joy. Clearly indifferent to Cardan’s annoyance, the boy stuck his tongue out at the High King of Elfhame, eyes alight with delighted mischief.

Cardan gave the boy a gesture he knew was considered to be particularly vulgar among mortals, one he had become familiar with through Jude’s generous use of it.

The child, thrilled by the king’s response, mimicked the motion, raising his small hand in a one-fingered salute. A reluctant grin crept onto Cardan’s face. 

“What a horrible little beast you are. Do you even know what that means?”

The little boy shook his head, wearing the roguish smile of a child who’s gotten away with something. 

Cardan laughed. 

  
“Neither do I. I don’t believe it’s intended to be very nice.”

Eventually the boy’s mother came to collect her son, with a brief glance in Cardan’s direction. As they wandered back out of the park, hand-in-hand, the child twisted around and gave a him little wave, one the king returned with a bemused smile.

  
Maybe the mortal world wasn’t so bad after all.

Cardan returned his attention to the house across the street. He had known what to expect, to a certain extent. It had only been a handful of hours after Jude’s banishment that Cardan had assigned the court of shadows the task of keeping tabs on her.

At the time, he had given some poor excuse for the order, one that the Roach and Bomb had doubtlessly only gone along with for his sake. 

Regardless of the motive, for months now Cardan had been informed of Jude’s every movement. He knew she hadn’t left the apartment for the first two weeks of her exile. He knew she struggled to cut ties Faerie, evident in the fact that she still could be found working alongside the Folk that didn’t belong to the world of the High Court. Cardan knew she woke nearly every morning just before dawn in order to run down to the sea, knew some days she would linger at the coast, the one on which his guards had left her. He knew she walked Oak home from school every Tuesday and Thursday, and would spar with her brother in the woods behind their home on the the weekends.

Cardan supposed there had been some luck in the timing of his arrival. Vivienne and the little prince would be gone for the next few days, out on some school trip in which Vivi was chaperoning.  Such timing would ensure that young Oak wouldn’t have to witness what was sure to be a violent reconciliation.

It also meant Jude’s eldest sister wouldn’t have the opportunity to try to kill him first. 

  
There was no point in delaying further. With one final look around the park, the king pushed himself to his feet.

As he approached the house, Cardan felt his mind spiraling in both anticipation and acute fear. He tried focusing on the small details of the apartment as a means to distract himself; he carefully studied the white paint, just beginning to peel around the nearest windowsill, deliberately examined the red bike with the worn seat and the flat tire leaning against the house. 

At the front door, Cardan paused for a moment. The Bomb had explained a bit of the layout of the house. He knew the entrance at which he currently stood was shared between Jude and the downstairs neighbor, thus there was an equal chance that of either of them would open the door if he knocked. Typically, the odds were not in Cardan’s favor. He certainly wasn’t going to risk the neighbor, who had already proven to be less than hospitable, answering the door. Luckily, he didn’t need to rely on chance; the Roach had taught him how to pick a lock several months ago.   


Once he was inside, Cardan wasted no time in getting up the stairs, only slowing to ensure he made no noise in reaching the top landing.

And then he was there.

The door was somehow smaller than he’d always imagined. It was a light blue in color, the paint uneven and sloppily applied, as if done by someone who had limited talent or (given what he knew about this household, the more likely option)limited patience.

Cardan had pictured this moment for months, but now he found himself with absolutely no idea of what to say.

The kinghad never been particularly skilled in the arts of swordplay or diplomacy, but he had always had a way with words. Now he felt this ability slipping through his grasp like grains of sand, leaving him feeling strangely defenseless.

Without taking another moment to think, Cardan reached out knocked on the door. 

When it opened, every thought eddied out of his head.

She stood before him in a pair of loose jeans, worn through at the knees. The close-fitting shirt she adorned was simple,offsetting the delicate silver chain from which a ruby ring hung. Her hair was unfasten, curling freely down her back, longer than it had been the last time he’d seen her. But her eyes, the soft golden brown unlike any other being in faerie, those remained utterly unchanged.

Here she was, after all this time. Standing in front of him, whole and hale.

  
The kingmaker, the little human liar. His dearest punishment, the poison and the antidote all in one.

  
His wife, the High Queen of Elfhame.

“Hello Jude”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Planning on continuing this through the reunion and explored what happens afterwards as well.  
I know this chapter is longer than the previous ones but I had so much fun writing it! Writing Cardan with little kids is particularly enjoyable, and I’m thinking of making another fic about similar interactions (maybe with his own children or something similar to that seen in this chapter, haven’t decided yet). If that’s something you’d want, lmk.  
I’ll try to get the next chapter up soon. Thanks so much for all the kind words so far!


	9. Chapter 9

One moment Cardan had been in the threshold of the apartment. In the next instance, he found himself yanked through the front entrance, shoved against a wall, an all-too familiar dagger pressed to his throat.

There she was.

Cardan had feared the mortal world would tame her temper, dull her edges. But it was evident that the Queen had lost none of her fire.

Cardan took a moment to study her. Jude was tanner than she had previously been, an undoubted affect of the bizarre mortal sleep schedule. Her face was fuller, a relieving contrast from its prior hollowness following her return from the undersea. 

But some things never changed. Cardan couldn’t help but recall being trapped against a wall very much like this one, having escaped a would-be coronation that still plagued his nightmares. It felt like a lifetime ago. He had been slightly drunker on that particular evening; the knife Jude which had threatened him with had been somewhat more menacing in size.

But the uncertainty over what she would do next was just as he remembered.

“Jude.”

He said her name slowly, carefully. 

She gave no verbal response, only tightened her grip on the hilt of the dagger, applied just enough pressure behind the blade that Cardan became uncomfortably aware of each breath he took.

“Jude.”

He spoke again, this time tilting his chin ever so slightly, forcing her to look up, to meet his gaze. Her eyes blazed with a familiar defiance, an unbridled anger etched into every feature. 

“ _Shut up_. ”

They say the first thing you forget about a person is the sound of their voice. Indeed, time had blunted his memory of thatslightly melodious tone of hers, the subtle emphasis she placed on each word, as if to drive them through the heart of the listener.

“I should kill you. I should slit your throat here and be done with it.”

Cardan contemplated the words for a brief moment, his eyes never leaving hers. 

“Perhaps you should. But I’d much prefer it if you refrained.” 

Jude snarled. 

“Wasn’t it enough?” She hissed. “You hold a crown untethered to any unwanted influence, with a court that bows to no other. You are free to indulge in your base nature and drown in your own reckless abandon. I have been cast out, humiliated, left with nothing and no one. I lost everything. What more could you possibly want? You  _won_. ”

If only she knew how much his so-called victory had cost him.

Jude laughed, a harsh sound, devoid of any amusement or joy. “I am the Queen of Nothing. But at least I had this place. This horribly mundane little world, untouched by magic or the fae, free of the poisonous Court and it’s cunning King. But you had to take that from me too.”

The rage in her eyes was a living being, fighting to break free. Cardan felt the unsettling warmth of his own blood, dribbling down his throat from where Jude’s knife still rested.

“I had forgotten,” she said quietly.

“Until you banished me from Elfhame, torn me from my home, I had hoped-“

She cut herself off, shaking her head angrily.

“But I remembered what it felt like to hate you, High King, in that moment you turned your back on me as everything I had bled for,  killed for, was ripped away from me in an instant.”

“Is it intended to serve as reminder then? The ring you still wear around your neck?” 

Cardan hadn’t posed the question as an accusation, but Jude recoiled as if she’d been slapped. The anger in her eyes was replaced by a deeply-set panic, the same frenzied stare of someone caught in a storm, of a child trapped in a riptide and pulled out to sea. 

“ I need to hear you say it. I need you to clearly spell out your deception. I can only spend so much time in my own head, hearing my thoughts and reasoning echoed back. Tell me that you played me, bested me at my own game. Tell me I was merely a pawn trying to play the role of a Queen, that our marriage was simply the final move in an elaborate game of chess I was too foolish to realize we were playing. Tell me every touch was a careful calculation, that somewhere along the way you shed your strings and became the puppeteer yourself. Grant me this one mercy.” 

They were still impossibly close, Jude’s dagger the only barrier between them. Cardan smiled sadly at his wife.

“ I wish I could ease this burden, Jude. But you know as well as I the laws that govern the tongue of the fae. I cannot lie to you.”

The expression Jude wore in that moment was one he was all too familiar. It was the face of his mother, the day she had beenbrought before Eldred, believing she was finally being granted the title of consort, only to be banished to the Tower of Forgetting. It was the expression Dain had worn the night of his coronation, when instead of a crown he found himself at the wrong end of Balekin’s sword.

“Then why?”

The question was heartbreaking in its simplicity, yet the answer was anything but.

“Why?” Her voice was louder, an octave higher than it had been a moment ago. “Even now, when you stand with nothing to lose, you can’t concede this single answer to me. Tell me _ why _ .”

The knife was still to his throat, though his gaze remained trained solely on her face.

In all the time he had known her, Cardan had never seen Jude Duarte cry. He’d once taunted her, saying she was no different than dirt beneath his feet. But in truth, Jude was carved from something much stronger than any other being he’d ever encountered. She was a creature of marble and steel, utterly unbreakable. A human raised in a land of monsters who became something to fear herself. She had faced down the sea and the land alike and emerged victorious each time. And never had he seen her shed a single tear.

But now the king met her glare and saw her eyes rimmed with red, watched her blink rapidly, try and fail to combat the rising anger and pain. 

Cardan forgot about the knife, forgot the months of anger and resentment Jude held, forgot all instincts of self-preservation.

Against all common sense, Cardan reached out a hand and brushed the tear from her cheek.

Jude froze. 

She was going to kill him here and now. She would carve out his heart, return to Elfhame with it still beating in her palm and throw it at the feet of the folk, show them the foolish empathy of their king. But then she did something far more unexpected.

One instance the knife was at his throat. Then it was on the floor and Jude was backing away, tears streaking down her face. She made no sound as she cried, simply stood there, hands clenched by her side as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with them.

In two strides Cardan there, his arms wrapping around her and then she was sobbing in earnest. Her fingers dug into the front of his shirt, her face buried in his chest, head tucked beneath his chin. “I hate you, Cardan. I hate you. I  _ hate  _ you.”

The king only pulled her closer. 

There they stood. A human girl with enough ambition to seize a kingdom and the fae boy with the power to pull islands from the sea, holding onto each other in the front hall of a small apartment as if terrified the other would simply disappear.

There was still much left unresolved, countless arguments to be had and explanations to be given. But in that moment, they were not monarchs or spies or strategists. It was funny, in a way. After all the carful plotting and intricate scheming, in the end they were simply two people who’d become far more to each other than either of them had ever planned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come!  
I’ve got a rough outline planned but if there’s any small scenes you’d be interested in seeing lmk and I’ll try to work them in.  
Thanks for all the support so far!


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